


I Don't Love You

by xylodemon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-04
Updated: 2004-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Harry has and what Harry wants are two completely different things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Love You

I.

The wall is hard and cold when Harry is pushed back against it, gray and unyielding, just like Malfoy's eyes. The chill of the old castle stones creep through the thin fabric of his Muggle t-shirt, the ridges and bumps struggling against the black cotton to leave their impressions on his skin.

Malfoy's mouth is on his neck, teeth and tongue bent on leaving impressions of their own.

Harry shivers and his skin pebbles, as much from the icy emptiness inside him as the feel of Malfoy's lips sliding across his throat. He reaches for Malfoy, though he knows he shouldn't, hands grasping roughly at Malfoy's hips to pull him closer.

"I don't love you," Malfoy murmurs, his voice hoarse and breathy as he fumbles with Harry's flies.

"That's…" Harry trails off, jolted by Malfoy's hand wrapping around his cock. His fingers are deceptively warm and stroking firmly, so Harry decides it doesn't matter what kind of lies Malfoy feeds himself.

Malfoy kisses him harshly, a desperate and heated clash of tongues that reminds Harry vaguely of fighting, of hexes and fists and angrily exchanged words. Harry kisses him back just as roughly, nipping at Malfoy's lower lip a little too hard. He likes the muffled sound Malfoy makes when the flesh gives, enjoys the slight hint of copper that spreads across his tongue.

Harry swallows a moan, his hips arching towards Malfoy, his body rushing towards completion as he thrusts mindlessly into the circle of Malfoy's fingers. Malfoy tightens his hand and Harry comes with a gasp, a sharp intake of breath that echoes off the ancient stone walls.

He manages a hand between the tight press of their bodies, cupping and rubbing Malfoy through his trousers. His movements are frantic and hurried, just as they always are, and within moments Malfoy's body goes taut and his eyes slide closed.

"I don't love you," Malfoy rasps as he comes, his voice thick and slurred with release.

Harry doesn’t have the chance to reply because Malfoy is already walking away, the rubber soles of his trainers squeaking on Filch's clean, pristine floor.

 

II.

Harry has come to dread mealtimes, with the same flat, disinterested hate he used to save for Snape and Double Potions. It is the same way he hates Malfoy, and he does hate Malfoy, but Malfoy is also why he hates mealtimes.

Harry can try and forget him when he is up in Gryffindor, or in Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione and Ginny. He can pretend to ignore him during Potions and Care of Magical Creatures. But, at mealtimes, Malfoy is always there, always in sight, too close for comfort yet painfully out of reach.

Harry is enthroned at the head of Gryffindor, another thing he hates, his apathy and disinterest veiled in a swirl of red and gold. Ron and Hermione are across from him, chatting amiably with each other, and ostensibly, with him, though he is not paying attention. Next to him, Ginny is tucked in the curve of his arm, her head heavy on his shoulder, her hand idle on his thigh because he can’t be arsed to hold it.

Across the Great Hall, Malfoy holds court at the Slytherin table, gallant and proud where Harry is detached, his arrogance surrounded by a flurry of silver and green. Crabbe and Goyle are across from him, leaned over their porridge, hanging on every word. Pansy Parkinson is nestled closely at his side, a smile on her upturned face as Malfoy speaks to her.

Distantly, Harry is aware that Ginny is speaking to him, a lilting chain of chatter that doesn't really permeate his brain. He doesn't know what she is saying, the words don't truly reach is ears anymore than Ron's or Hermione's do. He smiles and nods anyway, because he is supposed to, and absently drops a kiss on her forehead.

Harry studies Malfoy out of the corner of his eye as he eats, watching as Malfoy wraps an arm around Pansy, a sour pang of jealousy washing over him when Malfoy leans in to kiss her.

The kiss is quick and dutiful, the hand resting on her shoulder cool and detached. Malfoy favors Pansy with a smile before turning back to his breakfast, a smile that does not quite touch his eyes.

It almost reminds Harry of him and Ginny; and empty relationship comprised of mindless gestures and meaningless platitudes, a thing that has been dead so long he can't be bothered to bury it.

 

III.

Harry can feel Malfoy approaching before he sees or hears him, a prickling, nagging sensation along the back of his neck that makes him shiver. He lets his Invisibility Cloak fall to his shoulders as he peers out from his hiding place, his eyes searching the dark hallway almost frantically until he sees Malfoy at the end of the corridor.

Malfoy is paler than usual in the darkness, the soft glow of his wand washing all the color from his face. He moves quickly, feline grace coupled with a sense of urgency, his gray eyes darting around, presumably looking for Filch.

Inside, Harry finds this amusing. The map says Filch is three floors up and two corridors over, but Malfoy doesn't know this, and Harry likes knowing something that Malfoy doesn't.

Harry's arm snakes out when Malfoy passes him, catching him by the tails of his shirt. He spins Malfoy around and slams him into the wall, wedging him between the ancient stones and a squat, misshapen statue of Hubert the Humpbacked.

Malfoy's back hits the stones with a satisfying crack, a sound that makes Harry's blood rush in his veins. He's tempted to pull Malfoy back and slam him into it again, wanting to hear that noise again, and the soft, angry hiss that would leave Malfoy's lips.

He knows they shouldn't do this here, with nothing to hide them but the flimsy blanket of darkness and a likeness of a goblin. He thinks maybe they should move this to the place they agreed upon, but bites Malfoy instead, teeth sinking into the soft, pale flesh of his neck. Malfoy makes that noise again, that low, soft, hissing sound, his fingers tightening on Harry's waist, and Harry decides he doesn't want to wait, doesn't want to navigate two flights of stairs and poke around looking for an unlocked classroom when he can have Malfoy right here.

Harry kisses him harshly, then falls to his knees, hands pulling at the button of Malfoy's trousers. Malfoy moans quietly when Harry's fingers curl around his cock, his hands reaching to snag in Harry's hair when his cock slides into Harry's mouth.

Harry sucks him there, in the corridor, his hand pinned between Malfoy's hip and heel of Hubert the Humpback's boot, the Invisibility Cloak pooled messily around his feet. Malfoy is quiet when he comes, a low, guttural moan the only warning Harry gets before his mouth is flooded with saltiness and warmth.

Draco's hand is waiting form him when he stands, and he rubs against it twice before his release wracks his body.

Malfoy lingers for a moment, watching silently as Harry gathers the Invisibility Cloak and straightens his clothes.

"I don't love you," Malfoy whispers.

Harry starts at this, not because of the words, they are too familiar to be a shock, but because it took Malfoy so long to say them. He never waits until after, he always says it during; hissing, gasping declarations made with his cock down Harry's throat, or Harry's cock pushing inside him inch by inch.

"I don't love you," he repeats, a note of warning in his voice, as if he takes Harry's lack of response for disbelief.

Harry replies by wrapping the Invisibility Cloak around him, disappearing in a silent swirl of cloth.

 

IV.

Harry's dormitory is cold and dark when he returns, an eerie reflection of the heaviness in his heart. He's always cold afterward, consumed by a harsh, chilling emptiness that eats him slowly from the inside.

He can still feel Malfoy's hands on him as he dresses for bed, can still feel Malfoy's fingers in his hair and Malfoy's cock sliding down his throat. He tries futilely to push the thoughts away, because it makes his body hurt, a slow, dwelling ache like phantom pains from a lost limb.

He pulls the drapes on his bed to find Ginny waiting for him, a curtain of long, red hair framing her peaceful, sleeping face. He looks at her for a long moment, watching her doze, his stomach knotting and twisting painfully. He wonders how long she waited for him here before she fell asleep, how long she sat alone in the common room, staring at the fire, before she gave up and sneaked into his bed.

She stirs slightly when he climbs into bed, rolling towards him and throwing a thin, freckled, arm across his chest. He traces light, lazy patterns on her arm with his fingertips, his eyes unfocused as he stares blankly at the ceiling. He hopes the feel of her skin on his will wipe Malfoy's presence away, but it doesn't. It only makes it worse, makes his body throb and ache until it's so unbearable it's all he can do not to shove her away.

She shifts again, wiggling closer, lifting her arm to trace her fingertips along his jaw and over his lips. He freezes at first, stilling at the contact, hoping she'll think he is asleep if he doesn't acknowledge it. The hand is insistent, trailing over his shoulder and pulling lightly at his bedclothes. He tries to find the words to send her back to her own bed, but they don’t come out, so he rolls over and kisses her, because he can't think of anything else to do.

He doesn't want this, not with her, hasn't wanted this with her since the first time he touched Malfoy. But Malfoy is not here, and she is, and if they're fucking he can’t think and she can’t talk, and the only thing he wants more than Malfoy in his bed is silence from her and peace and quiet in his own mind.

He realizes, as he kisses her, that Malfoy's scent is all over him, that Malfoy's come is still on his tongue. He knows she should smell Malfoy on him, should taste Malfoy on him, and he wonders briefly if she doesn't notice, of if she just doesn’t care.

When he moves his mouth to her neck she whispers his name with a tone of wonder and reverence that makes him feel like he's swallowed a lump of lead, and he decides he doesn’t want the answer to that question.

 

V.

Harry looks up from his plate to see Malfoy is watching him, favoring him with a flat, disapproving glare that makes Harry's heart ache and his cock stir. He ignores it, busying himself with piling more food on his plate, but he can still feel Malfoy's eyes, and his hand shakes as he pours himself more pumpkin juice.

Ginny leans into him just as he glances back over at Malfoy, kissing him on the cheek as she reaches across him for the basket of rolls. Malfoy's lips press together in a thin, white line, and there is a flicker in his narrowed eyes, a brief flash of something angry and dangerous.

Then, Malfoy stands, whispering quiet words to Pansy as he tosses his napkin on the table. She starts to follow, but Malfoy waves her off and shuts her down with a few snappish words. She nods in agreement, but blushes furiously as she watches him leave, and her shoulders slump when she turns back to her food.

Harry makes himself to count to one hundred before following, forces himself to take a few more bites of pork and another swallow of juice. He mumbles something as he stands, nonsense about _Snape_ and _Remedial Potions_. He knows it sounds stupid as it comes out of his mouth; dinner has barely started and Snape is still at the staff table, but he can't think of anything else, and he doesn’t care enough to try.

Malfoy catches him just as he walks into the hall, pulling him inside a broom cupboard so close to the Great Hall it is practically inside it. The cupboard is dark and smelly, and so crowded with cleaning supplies there is scarcely room for them to move, and Malfoy upsets and stack of mops and brooms when he reaches out to pull Harry to him.

Malfoy's tongue is demanding as it pushes against his lips, searching and plundering as it slides against his own. Malfoy's hands are rough on his body, clenching and grasping, fingers digging into his flesh hard enough to bruise.

He fucks Malfoy up against the wall, sucking angry, red spots on the back of Malfoy's neck as he buries his cock inside him. Malfoy pushes back against him and makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and Harry thrusts into him hard, pounding into him until he thinks Malfoy might break.

When Malfoy comes, in hot spurts that spill over his hand onto the dusty floor, Harry thinks maybe that is exactly what he wants, and that thought alone is enough to bring him over the edge.

Harry pulls out of Malfoy, tucks himself away and starts for the door before Malfoy can speak.

"I don't love you," Malfoy hisses after him, his voice thin and shaky.

Harry opens the door and walks through it without even turning around.

 

VI.

When Harry walks into the common room, Ginny is waiting for him on the couch. Her face is blotchy and nearly as red as her hair, and her eyes are puffy and swollen.

He takes three steps towards her before she hurls something at his head, he catches a brief glimpse of gold sailing towards him that he reaches out and wraps his fingers around it like a snitch.

It's the bracelet he gave her for Christmas, a thin, gold chain with a small, heart-shaped charm. The necklace he gave her for her birthday follows shortly, catching him in the shoulder, then the matching scarf and gloves he bought her on his last trip to Hogsmeade, sailing through the air to land at his feet.

Harry is not entirely surprised, and when he tears his eyes away from the scarf and gloves to look up at her, he finds he cannot pretend that he is. He starts to apologize, starts to make excuses, but he stops himself, knowing they will be as false and bitter on his tongue as Malfoy's come and his own betrayal.

He's silent as she screams; sobbing, disjointed accusations of _Malfoy_ and _bastard_ and _I loved you_ and _how could you_. He opens his mouth, gropes desperately for something to say, but the words stick in his throat. He can't explain anymore than he can apologize, so he stands there, blinking at her, his mouth slack and useless.

"I don't love you," she shouts, as she pulls off the jumper she is wearing, his jumper, and throws it at him.

Those words, familiar and somehow comforting, jolt him, remind him that he can move. He turns on his heel and starts for the portrait hole, because leaving is the only thing he knows how to do.

 

VII.

_Entry Hall. Midnight._

The note flutters out of the pages of his Potions textbook when he opens it, a small scrap of crumpled parchment with the tail-end of notes on the other side. Malfoy has never written him personally, but he has seen his handwriting on enough potions essays and transfigurations assignments to recognize it straight away.

He slips it in his pocket as he runs out the door, scarcely stopping for his Invisibility Cloak, and completely forgetting the map. It's two minutes after midnight when he reaches the Entry Hall, and Malfoy is waiting for him, a heavy traveling cloak over his shirt and trousers.

Malfoy's face is tight and pinched, and his eyes are sunken in, dark and shadowed like he has not slept in two or three days. After a moment, Harry realizes that Malfoy is in the company of his owl, and that he is sitting on his trunk with his wand out.

Harry doesn't ask, because deep down, he already knows.

They don't speak as Harry leads him through the corridors to the One-Eyed Witch, and Harry hisses the password so quietly that it almost doesn't break the silence.

"Honeydukes," Harry says, as the passageway opens.

Malfoy kisses him, gently, a slow, liquid slide of tongue against tongue, warm pale hands cradling his face. Harry wraps his arms around Malfoy and deepens the kiss, but it remains soft and tender, and Harry is shaking when Malfoy pulls away.

"I love you," Malfoy says quietly, is voice odd and distant.

"I know," Harry whispers, just as he pulls the Invisibility Cloak around him and vanishes from sight.

The passageway closes behind Malfoy with a soft creak, and the ragged grind of stone against stone.


End file.
